


Let Me Groove You Good

by HiroMyStory



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe is Horny, Established Relationship, F/M, Hands, Light Monster Kink, Piano Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-S5a, Smut, forearms, happy couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiroMyStory/pseuds/HiroMyStory
Summary: Chloe visits the penthouse for some deserved alone time with her new boyfriend.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 32
Kudos: 385





	Let Me Groove You Good

**Author's Note:**

> For all the good folks in fandom even in the bad times.
> 
> Thank you to [ venividivictorious ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivictorious/pseuds/venividivictorious), [ jammededed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammededed/pseuds/jammededed), and [ObliObla ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla) for helping me whip this in shape!

Chloe’s smile stretches as the elevator rises. She’s _happy_. Despite the chaos of the last couple weeks, despite how _little_ time they’ve had since they officially got together. She’s just dropped Trixie with Dan, and the night is hers. No case, no simmering family drama, no _trouble_ —for once. She adjusts the fall of the emerald crushed velour of her favorite wrap top. Her hair is down, the way she knows Lucifer likes, and, moments ago, peering into the tilted visor mirror in her car, she applied just a touch more makeup than usual. The warm buzz of anticipation is liquid in her veins. So many possibilities are open now. Chloe can grab his hand and drag him straight to the bedroom, if she wants.

When the doors slide open, Lucifer’s sitting at his piano, playing at a contemplative pace, his back muscles moving under the purple satin of his waistcoat. Chloe pauses to appreciate the view before sliding onto the bench beside him, scooching until her thigh bumps against his. The notes resolve into the chorus of “Sweet Jane.”

Lucifer continues to play even as he turns his head toward her, lips turning up and eyes crinkling at the corners. Chloe’s heart turns over at that adoring expression turned her way. Oh, she has it _bad_.

His eyes slide down, taking her in, fingers slowing and then stilling on the keys. His gaze, on its slow journey back up, lingers at the bullet nestled between drapes of green fabric, and then at her lips, before meeting her eyes again.

“You’re earlier than I was expecting. Not that I’m complaining.”

She shrugs as if she hasn’t been itching to get here all afternoon. “Yeah. I decided the rest of the paperwork could wait until tomorrow.”

“Good detective,” he purrs in approval, leaning in just a fraction.

A matter of perspective, she supposes. “Keep playing.” She nods toward the keyboard.

His grin widens at her command, and when his fingers pick up again, she recognizes the opening chords of “Crash Into Me.”

She leans her head onto his shoulder, settling against his warmth, even though she’s jostled every now and then as he plays. His fingers dance and stretch and flex as they glide across the keys, long and strong and decisive. He's rolled up his sleeves in a way that accentuates the curve of his biceps and the litheness of his wrists. Her eyes trace them, watching the veins and muscles twisting under his skin as he works the ivories. Chloe’s always secretly appreciated his arms, his hands. Now, though, she’s free to look to her heart’s content, and she does.

Chloe’s mind drifts as she watches, thinking about those fingers on her skin. On her waist, on her hips, on her thighs. The music they could play, the sounds they could draw from her. How he’s plucked her chords as fluently as he plays his piano now. She draws air through her nose, a breath born of her sudden need for oxygen. Her hand falls to his thigh. The warmth she felt in the elevator is a fire now, her skin prickling with it, her heart fluttering with its flame, the heat between her thighs the center of the conflagration.

The first chorus passes. His cheek is pressing against the top of her head as she nuzzles into his shoulder. Her fingers slip toward the inside of his thigh. She squeezes a little, caressing with her thumb, feeling the muscles tighten under her hand. The breath ruffling her hair speeds up a little, but he doesn’t miss a beat.

Chloe smiles to herself, wondering. She shifts toward him, enjoying how her thighs press together with the movement. She takes advantage of the new position to run the back of her fingers alongside the zipper of his trousers.

Did he strike that chord a little hard? Her smile grows.

“Is this a challenge?” he rumbles under her.

She shrugs against his side, not pausing the teasing dance of her fingers. “I do like hearing you play, you know.”

“Mmm. Is that right?” There’s a breathiness in his answer, but he hits the next chorus with a renewed focus.

Turning her wrist, Chloe runs her palm along his hardening length. He twitches, straining toward her hand, barely restrained within his trousers. His body is coiling like a spring at her side, yet he continues to play, Dave Matthews flowing seemingly effortlessly from his fingers. A sweet ‘90s jam just for her, and she can think of nothing more than throwing him off his game. _Oh, when you come; Crash into me_. She giggles to herself, though he can surely feel her chuckle. She takes him firmly in hand through the fine fabric, squeezing just hard enough.

 _There_. His tempo picks up precipitously before evening out. She digs her free fingers into his knee as she palms him. Her eyes flick to his hands, which don’t move with the same easy grace as before. They’re still beautiful, though, filled with a new, coiled energy.

She undoes his zipper with care, slipping her hand inside. He’s hot and ready against her palm, and she works him, biting her lip as she feels her own sex throbbing in yearning.

The song is a mess now. Too fast and too slow by turns. Misstruck notes. It doesn’t matter. She gives his cock one more stroke before withdrawing her hand, reaching instead to wrap her fingers around his nearer wrist, pulling his hand away from the ivory keys.

Lucifer doesn’t protest, doesn’t quip into the sudden silence, as she guides his arm around her back. His eyes are dark on her, and she reaches for the bow holding her shirt closed, pulling until it comes undone, fabric falling aside. The black lace bra she exposes is one she bought just a few days ago, with him in mind, and, if his whispered, “Detective,” is anything to go by, he’s enjoying it as much as she enjoyed putting it on.

Chloe reaches up, taking his face in both hands and pulling it to hers. And, like that, he’s devouring her, nipping at her lip, tongue running against her teeth, long fingers curling into her waist. It’s all she can do to hold on, to give a bit of what she gets, as she draws his bottom lip between hers. Her body is a live wire of need, and she finds herself shifting, trying, _needing_ to be closer.

The bench creaks, and he chuckles, grinning, as they break apart a millimeter. And then he’s turning her, pulling her into his arms, a hand dropping to her thigh, guiding her toward him. She goes, gladly, reaching for his face again, still hungry. He groans as her tongue slips into his mouth, and then his big hands are flexing around her thighs below her buttocks, guiding her to straddle him. She squeaks into his mouth as she’s lifted, but, oh, she’s eager, her body begging, aching for that contact. As she drops to settle onto him, she bumps down on a stretch of keys behind her, the sudden dissonant clang startling and somehow hilarious. She breaks their kiss to giggle into his cheek.

Lucifer grins back, a gleam in his eye all the warning she has. He pulls her tight against him, just as he sits up straighter. She’s almost bent back over the keyboard as his lips find hers again, and she grabs the vee of his waistcoat to steady herself. Her center slides against his hardness. She groans, low and long. His heat bleeds through their clothes. And his hands, flexing into her thighs, slot her even closer. She needs this contact. Needs it like she needs air, like she needs…like she needs…and his hands leave her legs to reach past her for the keyboard.

The first note vibrates up Chloe’s spine and laughter bubbles up from deep inside. “You!” she huffs. This time, he launches into Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.” Of course he does. Because her boyfriend is a smartass.

The melody rolls on as Lucifer says into her hair, “Well, you did say you _liked_ my playing, Detective. Far be it for me to disappoint you.” He nips at her ear. “Just consider this your own private concert.” 

Chloe glances down at the arms bracketing but not holding her. Her falling hair brushes against his wrists. Almost-but-not-quite interfering with his performance. She’s left to balance on his lap as he chases her with his lips, running them down her throat. Her fingers, clumsy with the hunger to trace skin, turn to the buttons of his waistcoat. Soft wool pushed aside, she moves on to his shirt.

When Lucifer darts his head up, his aim is unerring, finding her lips again with grace, despite her precarious perch. Her hands slip under his half-open shirt, wrapping around his back to hold herself steady. Hold herself close. He kisses like it’s his singular focus, and not at all like he’s simultaneously serenading her. A maestro with his lips, just as much as with his hands. All the while, the music is pouring out from behind her.

It’s ridiculous, and it’s very him, and she’s so, _so_ turned on.

His hips move a little under her, his groans tell a story, but the song stays steadfast in its languid rhythm. It’s smooth, easy. Maddening. Maddening when she needs and needs now. When she burns for it. She bucks against him, groaning. Crashes back against his lips. When this song’s done, she’s going to have him naked in his bed so fast. But right now, right now, oh _fuck it_ , she’s _close_.

All the leverage she needs, she has to find herself. She inches her hands up his back to pull herself closer, until she’s clasping his shoulders from behind, rolling her hips against his, urgent, desperate now. And that’s when she feels it, almost like something kicking against her palms from under his skin. Her already thudding heart speeds up. She clutches his back for a better feel, and he _groans_.

Yes, there, something quivering, contorting, _fluttering_. Where his scars used to be. Where his wings _are_. Like they’re _there_ , just inside him, struggling to burst free. Chloe spreads her fingers wide, gripping his flesh tighter; it’s nothing human, but she wants to feel it all. Her hunger for even this takes her by surprise. She jerks against him. Loses her rhythm. She can’t focus on kissing anymore, so she buries her face against his neck, panting, breathing in the salt of his sweat, the residue of his cologne, clutching him, while she ruts against his lap. _There_. _There_. He is in all of her senses; her desire for him is, too; but in the end, it’s all washed away in the wave of her orgasm.

Chloe comes back to herself in silence, slumped against Lucifer’s chest and wrapped in his arms. She lets her breathing steady and her heart rate slow before she lifts her head. She can feel he’s still hard under her, and the look on his face is a bit desperate. She _will_ take him to his bed in a moment. In just a moment, she thinks, as she tucks her head into his chest, still gazing up at him.

She’d lost the song in her pleasure, but she doesn’t doubt he played it through. “Sorry I missed the end,” she murmurs.

Lucifer’s grin is swift and wicked. “How about an encore?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, or come find me on Tumblr at [hiromystory](https://hiromystory.tumblr.com/)!


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